


A Loose Definition of Morning

by TheRedGlass



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Ficlet, Oneshot, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Prompt, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, buckynat - Freeform, short fic, winterwidow - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 07:25:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7565362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedGlass/pseuds/TheRedGlass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Valentine's Day and Natasha deserves a break and something special. Bucky is no expert in the kitchen but damn will he try.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Loose Definition of Morning

**Author's Note:**

> I received a request on my tumblr for something Buckynat, fluffy, and related to Valentine's Day.

“What time is it?” Natasha mumbles, half burrowed under the rumpled blankets of the bed. She pushes back the covers and blinks blearily into the light shining in between the blinds.

“11:30,” Bucky says, rummaging in the dresser for sweatpants. The only pair clean has a hole in each knee and the elastic waistband is nearly shot but he pulls them on anyway.

Natasha groans. “Dammit. I was gonna do stuff-”

“It’s Sunday.” Bucky comes over to the bed and tosses the blankets back over her. “Fuck productivity.”

She gives him a sleepy smile from her new cocoon. “‘kay.”

He smiles fondly back at her before he heads to the kitchen. He’s no culinary genius, but Natasha deserves a break and they’ve been living on nothing but frozen SHIELD meals gulped down between missions. The least he can do on their day off is something homemade. Even if it’s kinda lame.

He only remembers that cooking spray exists when he’s scraping the first set of mildly singed pancakes off the griddle. He hears Natasha stirring in the other room.

“James? Everything okay? Smells like something’s bur-”

“NOPE, I GOT THIS, STAY IN BED.”

He hears her stifle laughter, but she doesn’t leave the bedroom and heaves a sigh of relief.

The coffee maker is kinder to his minimal culinary skill set, and after another few tries at the griddle with more cooking spray, less heat, and better timing, he produces acceptable pancakes. He quickly shuffles them onto a plate, and, not finding a tray, grabs a cookie sheet from the cupboard and piles it high with the plate of pancakes, two mugs of coffee, cream, sugar, syrup, butter, whipped cream, and a dusty fake daisy from a flower arrangement in a wine glass because he realizes too late that there’s no time to get flowers.

Bucky re-enters the bedroom, knowing he must look a mess. Natasha opens one eye lazily as she hears him enter, smothering a grin at the sight, and shuffles herself up into a sitting position, still absurdly wrapped in half a dozen blankets. “Look at you, Mr. Fancy,” she teases.

He shrugs and sets the cookie sheet on the bed, carefully climbing in beside her. “I try.”

Natasha picks up a fork and suddenly notices that some of the pancakes are more or less heart-shaped. She rolls her eyes and punches his shoulder gently. “You’re a dork.”

He grins sheepishly.

“I like that about you.” She offers him a bite of pancake off her fork and he happily accepts.


End file.
